


Things That Go Bump

by foodaddict



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars - Episode VII, Star Wars - Episode VIII, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Dark Reylo, F/M, Jealous Kylo Ren, Non-Con Because Vampires Mess With Your Mind, Obsessive Kylo Ren, Possessive Kylo Ren, References to Attempted Rape and Sexual Harassment, Reylo - Freeform, Underage Rey, Vampire Kylo Ren, Vampire: The Masquerade - Freeform, Violence, alternative universe, elements of non-con
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-08-29 07:06:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16739365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foodaddict/pseuds/foodaddict
Summary: Rey breaks into what she thinks is an abandoned old house on a cold autumn night and runs into something from her darkest dreams.





	1. Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea

**Author's Note:**

> So I saw _World of Darkness_ at my little brother’s prompting and wrote this five hours later. I don’t intend for this to be very long (adulting is _hard_ , guys), but we’ll see!

                Rey crouched down as the fall wind whipped savagely into her, slicing at the white fingers that clutched desperately at the frayed edges of her coat, trying to keep it closed. The branches of the trees around her swayed, the rustling like a warning against what she was contemplating. The stately Victorian house a hundred meters ahead was completely dark, but to Rey’s weary eyes the black windows seemed to beckon invitingly.

 

                She looked up into the net of leaves, watching as the last patches of lavender were swallowed up by the indigo spill in the sky. The temperature would drop several degrees closer to deathly once night fell completely.

 

                _You’ll freeze out here._

 

                It was one of the few coherent thoughts she still possessed.

 

                Taking a deep, bracing breath, Rey pushed slowly to her feet and squared her shoulders, wincing when pain skittered through her. Grimly, she mused that it was a good thing her “interview” earlier in the afternoon had involved a struggle. The pain helped center her numbed system as she hobbled out of the copse towards the house.

 

                The massive entryway yawned over her like a hungry mouth and Rey could barely see. The glass panes of the double doors glimmered dully in the light of the moon that was rising over the trees. She pawed at them, breath hissing out sharply when it felt like touching ice, until her fingers rested against the metal knobs. Yanking and pushing mindlessly, she nearly wept when the rattle gave way to the smooth swish of one heavy door swinging slowly open.

 

                Maybe for a little while she would be safe.

 

*

 

                Kylo lifted his head, listening intently. Even two floors beneath the ground, he picked up the muted thuds and scrapes that told him that someone had dared to intrude upon his domain. His lips pursed in annoyance as he began his unhurried ascent from his chambers.

 

                Hux had viciously criticized his choice of abode when they had first come to Coruscant. The old estate was on the fringes of the megacity and too close to the woods for his friend’s comfort. Like most others of their kind, Hux was at his best in the glittering city, surrounded by convenient meals.

 

                Kylo was accustomed to his solitude, aberrant though it was to those of his clan and rank. He interacted with others, kindred or otherwise, when he had to—which was, irritatingly, most of the time. He had been counting on having a rare night off to finally finish the old tome he had wrested from Lor San Tekka.

 

                Instead he would have to dispatch yet another home invader.

 

                He could no longer hear movement from the upper floors. Whoever it was had apparently settled in. Kylo rolled his tongue over one pointed tooth.

 

                At least he wouldn’t have to go out to get dinner.

 

*

 

                It took a good ten minutes before anything resembling lucidity began to trickle through Rey’s mind. After she’d managed to start a fire, shucked off her damp coat and boots, and rolled herself into the huge fur rug, she’d simply lain there and let the warmth seep into her bones. When her teeth finally stopped chattering, she found it in herself to peel her eyes open.

 

                What she could see from the floor and the limited light—she’d stumbled around, looking for a wall switch until she’d managed to crash into a lamp—told her that she was in someone’s well-appointed sitting room. The walls were upholstered with some lush black fabric threaded through with gold, against which backdrop the scarlet wingbacks blazed in sharp contrast. It was somewhere between pared down and ostentatious, and Rey felt similarly divided by it: she knew it was magnificent and yet she wasn’t impressed by it. Absently, she thought of her friend’s sister, who was studying interior design. Paige Tico would probably rave over the homeowner’s aesthetic and explain to Rey what the fabric on the walls was and why it was so great.

 

                But Rey didn’t know when she would see Paige Tico again, or even _if_ she’d ever see her again. For the first time since she’d bolted from her interviewer’s car and off the highway, she let herself think about what came next.

 

                Plutt would be furious. He’d probably already called her phone until the battery died. Rey didn’t know if it was a good thing that she’d left it in the car along with her bag and nearly-empty wallet. She might have called or messaged Finn or Rose, but she’d also have had to contend with Plutt’s questions and demands.

 

                How exactly did you tell your guardian (and prison guard) that you were done and weren’t going to do a thing for him anymore?

 

                There was a word for what she wanted. Finn had told her about it before, but she’d been too stubborn, too determined to grit her teeth and bear things because she was too frightened of risking change. Her eyes fluttered shut as she struggled to remember it, her mind searching frantically through its own recesses even as the rest of her relaxed, lulled by the warmth and the cheerful crackling of the wood fire, eager to escape the pain that still throbbed in several places and the rolling hunger in her belly.

 

                She found it just before sleep dimmed her thoughts.

 

                _Emancipation._

 

*

 

                It took Kylo a moment to understand what he was looking at.

 

                There was a misshapen, furry lump in front of the fire. For a split second he wondered if, as Hux had ominously predicted would happen, a garou had actually managed to track him down before bizarrely deciding to take a nap. Then he saw the overturned chair, the muddy boots and the frayed grey coat, and realized that someone had decided to roll themselves into the bear skin rug that Phasma had gifted him when he’d moved in.

 

                It was so ridiculous that it almost made him suspicious. But he sensed nothing out of the ordinary—nothing _other_ out of the ordinary—in his home, as hard as he tried to reach out with his senses.

 

                Just a foolish human in a rug, in front of his fire.

 

                Kylo approached, plain curiosity making him go over his unwanted guest’s things. The coat was decidedly worse for wear upon closer inspection. It wasn’t grey at all—it simply wasn’t the cream it had been when it had first been created. There was a large rip on one sleeve and a few buttons along the front were missing. Something had been spilled onto it recently . . . he wrinkled his nose at the acrid tang of cheap alcohol.

 

                He crouched down, picking up on something else. It hit him full in the face when he lifted up one end of the rug.

 

                Blood.

 

                Clean and sweet, its freshness told him everything he needed to know. He picked up a lock of soft chestnut hair, shining almost red in the firelight, and pressed his lips against it.

 

                “Wake up, little girl.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will get much, much darker, guys. Stop here if stereotypically dark/evil vampires are not your thing.


	2. Choices

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Both Kylo and Rey get more than they bargained for. 
> 
> \---
> 
> Uploading this a few hours earlier than I intended because I suddenly got work (on a SUNDAY, huhu) and I still have to finish up a little present for a very dear reader.

     _“Rey! REY!”_

_Rey turns, cringing when Unkar Plutt’s heaving mass rounds the corner._

_“Have you gone deaf, girl?” her foster father demands, spittle collecting on his chin from all his shouting. “There’s a customer out front!”_

_Rey hurries out, barely flinching when Unkar cuffs her on the side of her head as she passes him. He’s almost all mush now, decades of heavy drinking and overeating broadcasted by his bloated girth and mottled, clammy complexion. He hasn’t been able to really hurt her in a long time. Beside, he’s all she really has. Even if he is mean and stingy and disgusting._

_The man standing outside their garage and scrap shop immediately makes her bristle. He’s dressed in the kind of gear that screams “sponsored” and his Saleen S7 Twin Turbo makes her fingers itch, but there’s something about the way he looks at her and the sharpness of his smile that she dislikes. He greets her, his manner so slick that it’s oily, and it’s a struggle for Rey not to frown._

_“I hear you sorted out a Pagani for a friend of mine,” he’s telling her, still smiling even as his eyes rove over her. “I thought for sure it was totalled! Any chance you want to come and work for me?”_

_Rey opens her mouth to tell him to go to hell, that she’d sooner apply her wrench to the side of his beautiful car than do a thing for him, but Unkar is there, almost grovelling in his agreement and oh so thankful for the opportunity._

_“Rey would be so honoured,” he wheezes._

_“I’ll have to try her out first,” the bastard pretends to hedge, winking at Rey like he thinks her gritting her teeth is a signal that she’s charmed. “When can you come for an interview, Rey?”_

 

*

 

     Rey moans, hands fisting, body curling instinctively as something tugs her away from sleep’s warm embrace. She wants to weep as the kindness of oblivion is stripped away from her and she comes slowly into reality. Into bruised ribs and pulled muscles, into the gnawing in the pit of her stomach that has only become more insistent.

 

     But there is a reason she needs to rise. She knows it is vital even as she struggles to open her eyes. Her hair is in her face, but she sees golden light and shadows through the mottled curtain.

 

     “Come now, sweet, head up.”

 

     Rey shivers as the words curl lazily over her ears. Something about the voice is wrong. It is terrible and beautiful at the same time—deep and dark, gentle but undercut with danger. Yet as much as it troubles her, she finds herself obeying, pushing herself up on her side even as pain screams through her at the movement.

 

     A large hand gently brushes her hair out of her face. Rey wants to shrink back against the cool touch, but instead she freezes, transfixed by what she sees when she looks up.

 

     She’s never seen a face like his before. Granted, Rey may have a limited social circle considering the junk heap she’d grown up in, but she’s convinced that no one has a face like the giant currently crouched before her.

 

     His face itself is strangely-shaped: long and pale, and the slopes of it strike her as somewhat awkward. The individual features though . . . the tall, proud nose, the dark slashes of his brows, the fullness of his mouth . . . they make a case for a clear, if singular, attractiveness.

 

     Ultimately, it’s his eyes that make her decide that she finds him handsome. If a single feature could completely transform a person’s face, this man’s eyes managed it. Coffee-black and yet bright, they seem to drink her in with a kind of laser-sharp focus that makes her cheeks flame.

 

     “What’s your name, little girl?”

 

     That voice again—caressing but threatening at the same time. Rey wants to avert her gaze and scramble to her feet, but her body remains hopelessly still, trapped by the light touch beneath her chin and those eyes.

 

     Her lips part and her voice creaks out. “Rey.”

 

      “Rey.”

 

     Maybe it is the fatigue and injury, but she can almost swear that he seems to savor the name on his tongue as he says it. Rey doesn’t know where the impulse comes from, but the question whispers out from her lips.

 

     “What’s yours?”

 

     His brows raise a little and his lips quirk. But as bemused as he appears, he answers.

 

     “I’m Kylo Ren.”

 

*

 

     “Kylo Ren.”

 

     Little Rey says his name with not a little wonder and Kylo is surprised by the effect it has on him. He had set out to amuse himself with his guest before making himself a meal, but Rey has taken it upon herself to throw a wrench into his plans.

 

     Kylo has never been one to have his head turned by a pretty face. His clan is the very embodiment of darkness, so while beauty is certainly appreciated, it is not a priority.

 

     And Kylo is not sure it is Rey’s beauty that has him hesitating to feed.

 

     “Where are you from?” she asks, stunning him again. She is looking straight into his eyes, and she certainly looks wary and fearful, but the light in those hazel orbs is steadily brightening—like she is fully her own person instead of thrall to a vampire’s gaze.

 

     Kylo drops his hand from beneath her chin and tips his head to the side, putting a little more effort into his hold. “From farther away than I would like to tell. Where are you from, Rey?”

 

     She swallows thickly. Kylo follows the movement of her throat. Her neck, like the rest of her, is short. He isn’t sure he’ll be able to feed without completely mauling her if she struggles.

 

     Most do. He doesn’t bother to compel them to be still. Most victims are too overcome by the rapture of the kindred’s kiss. When he comes across the rare, strong-willed mortal who manages to resist, Kylo revels in the struggle. The death throes heighten his enjoyment.

 

     But the thought of mangling Rey’s smooth golden flesh is distinctly . . . unappetizing.

 

     Kylo frowns, disliking the situation more and more, and when he raises his eyes back to Rey he realizes that she has still not answered his question. He sees the beads of sweat gathering over her brow, the new clarity and stubbornness in her still-fearful gaze, and it dawns on him that she is truly able to resist him.

 

     “Well, well,” he whispers, intrigued. He grins, flashing her every single sharp tooth, and is gratified by her swift intake of breath and the horror that enters her widening eyes. He puts every inch of compulsion he can muster behind his next command. “Tell me where you’re from, Rey.”

 

     It takes a heartbeat longer than he is used to, but the answer grinds out from between her gritted teeth. “Jakku.”

 

     Kylo frowns. It takes a few seconds for him to place the desiccated carcass of an industrial complex that she is referring to. It isn’t that far from Coruscant, but it isn’t the kind of place that people go out of their way for. Towns that bring to mind dried up landfills generally aren’t.

 

     “And what are you doing here?” he continues, wanting the story out before he does the inevitable.

 

     “I . . .”

 

     Rey pauses and Kylo sees that there are tears in her eyes. He smiles when he recognizes that they are tears of frustration. The grooves of tension in her fine-boned face shift and he sees that she is infuriated by his smile.

 

     But her fury is meaningless in the face of his power.

 

     “I needed somewhere warm to sleep,” she hisses, gasping when the pressure he knows is weighing down on her lifts.

 

     Kylo huffs in amusement, grudgingly admiring her presence of mind and resolve. Obeying is obeying, even if it means not actually giving him the answer he wants. The scrappy little intruder has been the most amusing diversion he’s had in years.

 

     But he is getting impatient, and it really is time for him to feed.

 

*

 

     Rey opens her mouth to scream when the monster reaches for her, but all that escapes her is a strangled whine. She is already trembling from the effort of fighting him, of trying to shake off the dark power that shrouds over her. It sinks into her skin, into her sight, making her feel leaden and lost.

 

     His arms coil around her like a vise and Rey whimpers when he presses his face into her neck. His skin is cold, but it’s heat that races through her when she shivers at the touch of his lips.

 

     Kylo sweeps his mouth up to her ear as one of his hands cups her head. He is so massive that she is sure he could crush her skull if he wanted to; instead he is cradling her like one would a baby. “Don’t fight me, Rey,” he says, so tenderly that it almost feels like a plea.

 

     Then he sinks his teeth into her neck and Rey wails from the explosion of sensation.

 

     She knows she is in pain—underneath the steady, hot pressure of his mouth there’s an echo of the feeling that had rattled through her when she’d acquired the bruises and scrapes during her escape.

 

     But this is so much more than that. She writhes hopelessly against him, fire racing through her and lightning crackling over her skin. She’s never felt so alive, so utterly aware of the steeliness of her captor’s arms, the scent of him—spice and musk and bitter metal—and the bewildering wetness pooling between her thighs.

 

     She feels the ache in her ribs, the hunger that has never really gone away, and the frantic pounding of her heart . . . and feels them begin to fade away.

 

     And knows this exquisite, unnameable feeling for what it is: dying.  

 

*

 

     She tastes as divine as he’d first imagined when he’d gotten a whiff of her blood. All blood is a delight to his kind, but in the centuries he has been alive, Kylo is hard-pressed to recall anyone who has tasted quite like Rey. It is ridiculous, considering how long it has been since his last sunrise, but he imagines that she tastes like sunlight—like warmth and life, and all of the things that he no longer has.

 

     Perhaps that is why it is so hard to stop, once he starts. He had intended to take only a little, only enough to tide him over until he had the leisure to look for something else.

 

     Instead he drinks deeply, lost in the feel and taste of her, of her brave little heart pounding against his dead one. He tastes the shock, the fear and anger, the frustration—the desperate desire to live warring fiercely with his domination. She clutches weakly at his shoulders, whispers a frail denial, and Kylo is reminded that as overwhelmed by his deadly kiss as she is, as outstripped and outclassed by him as she is, she has not lost hold of herself as a person.

 

     Before it’s too late, Kylo lifts his mouth from her neck. Rey gasps, chest heaving, and Kylo knows that she has very little left before she is gone. She needs to heal, and under the circumstances there is only one way for her to do it.

 

     Licking his lips, rousing himself from the heady taste of her on his tongue, Kylo brings his wrist up to his mouth.

 

*

 

     Rey closes her eyes—everything is too fuzzy for her to really see, anyway. The brilliant colors that had filled her sight are fading and the ecstasy stirred by the monster’s assault is slipping away. Her heart is still racing and chills are still crawling over her skin, but perhaps that, too, will fade.

 

     “Rey.”

 

     Even though the last of her strength seems spent, there is enough left in her to be angry.

 

     _Haven’t you done enough?_ she wants to snarl. Why can’t he leave her alone?

 

     There is something warm dripping onto her lips. Rey frowns, eyes fluttering open, but things still do not take shape.

 

     More fluid touches her mouth, slips over her teeth. It tastes both sweet and bitter and it burns her tongue. She swallows, wondering at how the initial discomfort of it in her throat sparks a glow of warmth and well-being.

 

     It is the only warmth left in her. It’s becoming so cold that her teeth are beginning to chatter and the air feels so thin that no matter how much she tries to breath in she feels like she’s choking. Panic jolts through her and she tries to sit up, but it seems that even now she is restrained.

 

     “Be calm, Rey.” Kylo Ren’s voice is in her ear, and she becomes aware that he is behind her somehow, around her. Her head tips back in a swoon and she feels it rest against his firm shoulder. “Drink for me.”

 

     She opens her eyes again and her galloping heart stutters. She can see more clearly now, thank God, but what she sees almost makes her wish the light and clarity would recede again.

 

     “You . . . you’re . . .”

 

     It’s too painful to speak. But there’s no way to describe her horror at what he appears to want her to do. He presses his gnawed, bloody wrist closer to her mouth again and Rey whimpers, pressing her lips closed.

 

     “Hush now, this will make it better,” Kylo croons, pressing tender kisses onto the side of her brow and her cheek that are sharply at odds with his inexorable, brutal grip. “Give in to me, sweet. I don’t want you to die.”

 

     If it’s not a lie, it’s a stupid thing to say. Rey can still feel indignation, considering that she is dying because of him. And she can still know for certain that drinking this creature’s blood is unlikely to save her.

 

     Then again, before tonight, she had been certain that the creature cradling her and coaxing her to drink his blood didn’t exist.

 

     Kylo nuzzles the side of her face. “Please, my sweet little Rey.”

 

     Rey closes her eyes, shuddering as the dark tendrils of endless sleep begin to wrap around her.

 

     And drinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope everyone is still okay! The next chapter will be where this fic earns its rating, haha. It will be up next Sunday.
> 
> As for the gift I was talking about earlier, it's a fic that I'm writing for stories_in_my_head. It'll go up in a few hours and will also be updated on Sundays, but maybe at longer intervals than this fic. 
> 
> I hope everyone enjoyed this installment! Please let me know if you did! (Or if you didn't, huhu.) Happy Sunday, everyone! :)


	3. The Woods are Lovely, Dark and Deep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings for this chapter:** This fic earns its rating in this chapter with 3,915 words of graphic, filthy smut that may or may not have Rey’s full consent—depends on how you look at it. _Please_ do not read this if that kind of thing upsets you. 
> 
> Also, there are some references based on _Vampire the Masquerade_ here that you may or may not need to read up on. I tried to write it with enough context for even non-VTM fans to read, but just in case I’ll link stuff at the end.
> 
> Finally, I wrote this while rushing to hit a work deadline and needing to go to bed early for a work meeting. Please forgive any typos.

     “There now, sweet thing. There now.”

 

     Rey whines when Kylo lifts his arm, taking away the source of her succour. She tries to reach for it, but she is still too weak, and she paws ineffectually at the steel band that is his arm around her waist. She feels absolutely _delicious_ , warmth and delight humming in her veins, and when Kylo presses a kiss against her temple she hums, leaning back against him and embracing the languor.

 

     “Don’t sleep, Rey,” Kylo murmurs in that quiet, compelling voice of his. “Not yet.”

 

     She wants to protest, but she knows he must have his way. It doesn’t disturb her anymore, how much she wants to yield to him. So she forces her eyes to stay open, to focus on what he’s telling her. Perhaps if she’s good, he’ll let her have more. She licks her lips hungrily, savouring the lingering traces of his blood.

 

     “You’re bleeding in many places and your ribs are bruised,” her monster tells her, one hand sweeping down over her torso. She still has it in her to squirm when his fingers brush over her small breasts and she feels her nipples stiffen under the caress. “Can you think of that?”

 

     Rey frowns, more intent on the trail of blood that his mangled wrist is leaving over her dress. It’s a pitifully plain ecru linen A-line she’d found in a thrift store, but it hangs right on her and gives the illusion of more generous curves. And it’s a shame to just stain her clothing when he could be putting that blood in her mouth.

 

     “Rey.”

 

     She shivers at the dark undercurrent in his voice. “Yes,” she whispers meekly, though now that she forces herself to think of it she can no longer feel pain. She knows she is not well—she still can’t move very much, and she sees the scratches and road burn on her arms and legs plainly enough—but she feels nothing but the pleasure and well-being thrumming through her with every pulse.

 

     His voice dips lower, the hand he has over her belly doing slow rotations. “Do you feel me inside you?”

 

     Rey’s eyes flutter shut. It’s an odd question, but she _does._ He is every prickle of delight in her veins, every inch of pleasure sinking into her pores.

 

     “Think of me moving through you. Fixing you. Making you better.”

 

     She does what he says, even though she does not understand. He whispers in her ear as she does so, praising her with words that make her heart sing and desire coat the inside of her thighs. Rey no longer knows herself—this mewling, weak creature—but as long as she is Kylo’s then she doesn’t care. His hand continues to move over her, his touch cool even as it sparks fire in its wake.

 

     “That’s right.” His fangs scrape the underside of her chin and she moans, her thighs rubbing together to relieve the sharp ache that shoots through her. “Open your eyes, Rey.”

 

     Rey does so, lashes fluttering as she blinks stupidly down at herself.

 

     “What?” she asks, not expecting an answer, not really knowing what she wants to know.

 

     Kylo laughs when she wiggles her toes and points them. The sound rumbles through his chest, against her back, and she swivels her neck so that she can see him. He looks so warm, so tender and approachable, fangs and all, that she reaches up, wanting to feel the shape of his smile against her hand.

 

     He kisses her palm, pressing it against his cold cheek. His eyes are hungry, but she isn’t afraid of him anymore. Not when the skin over her body is smooth and unmarked, and the only signs that she was ever hurt are the drying blood and tears on her clothes.

 

     He would never hurt her. Not really. Rey is sure of it. So sure that she turns, trying to press her face against his chest. He finally lifts his other arm, freeing her, and she turns fully so that she is straddling him. She shivers when his large hands skim over her legs and up her thighs before coming to rest on her hips.

 

     He’s beautiful, the red flames slinking over the planes of his face. Rey doesn’t know why she doubted how much she wanted him before. She traces a finger over features that seem cut by glass, mesmerized by the black pools of his eyes. He seems content to let her do what she wants, a smile playing over the corners of his full mouth.   

 

     Rey has never kissed before. She doesn’t like most boys, and the few that don’t repel her she can only see as friends. Finn makes her blush sometimes, but only because she knows so little about what it’s like to be intimate with anyone. Even at her closest with Finn, he has never inspired _this._

 

     When her lips press shyly against his, Rey feels Kylo tense beneath her. Terrified that she has displeased him, she rears back, but he grips her tightly around the waist to keep her from scrambling off his lap.

 

     “Now, now, little one,” he chides, his mild tone at odds with the intensity in his eyes and the harsh cast of his face. “Finish what you start.”

 

     Relieved, she gives him a wobbly smile before leaning in again, closed lips pushing against his mouth. She takes a deep breath, a sigh trembling through her as his scent fills her nose. She runs her hands up the massive expanse of his chest, over the crisp fabric of his dark shirt, delighting in the way his muscles jump beneath her touch.

 

     It’s all she can do to cling to his shirt lapels when Kylo turns his head and slants his mouth over hers.

 

     He tastes divine, like bacon and chocolate and all the things she craves, and she tangles her tongue with his. One of his hands is in her hair, grip tight and almost cruel, but the stinging pain in her scalp only makes her tip her head back farther and open her mouth wider. She locks her ankles together against his back, knees tight around his waist, hips desperately chasing some friction. There is a hard bulge beneath the rough fabric of his trousers and her soaked panties only provide more stimulus. Kylo’s other hand has moved over her ass, pinning her tight against him, and Rey’s eyes roll back into her head as lightning streaks through her.

 

     When her first orgasm hits, she wails.

 

*

 

     Kylo tightens his grip on her as Rey seizes in his arms, her body locking around his as her release tears through her. For now he is content to watch her, enraptured by the hot breath puffing out of her in gasps, the roar of her heart, the smell of the slick rushing through her cunt. Cainites can still fuck, but it is nothing like the human experience of sex. It’s perhaps the only thing he truly misses about being kine.

 

     There are tears on her cheeks when she finally collapses against him and Kylo shushes her, pressing soft kisses to her sweet face. She kisses him back eagerly, and he chuckles to himself at her clumsiness even as something foreign lodges inside his chest.

 

     Her newfound devotion is something he understands on an intellectual level. He has seen and known plenty of ghouls to know the effect of vampiric vitae on a mortal. It is a false love, existing only so long as she is intoxicated with his blood.

 

     But it will not matter whether her feelings are true. Not when he makes the blood bond real.

 

     Kylo pushes aside what feels like a scruple when Rey’s breath hitches and her pulse quickens again. Her fingers are running up and down his chest, scraping as a cat would.

 

     “Kylo,” she whispers, pulling her mouth from his. A tiny thread of spit hangs between their lips before falling against her chin. Her smile is equal parts shy and coquettish. “Would you do something for me?”

 

     He nuzzles her nose with his, willing to play for the first time in his long life. “What?”

 

     She tugs at his shirt. “Would you take this off?”

 

     He grins, reaching up to do as she bids. Before he can tell her to do the same she’s clambering upwards, yanking at her own clothing. She whips her dress off, giving him a flash of her modest cleavage as she bends down to shuck off her ruined tights. When she straightens again, she’s standing between his thighs, a goddess in a ratty white bra and ruined white underwear.

 

     Kylo’s hands skim up her long, toned legs, stopping just beneath the plump cheeks of her ass. She tips forward, lashes fluttering, her fingers resting on his shoulders. He can smell the sweet cream on her cunt, but there are other things he wants before he tastes.

 

     “How did you get your pretty legs hurt, sweet?” he asks, pressing his mouth against her knee. There had been an ugly scrape there earlier.

 

     Rey frowns, tipping her chin down to look at him. “I don’t want to talk about that.”

 

     He nips her on the inside of her thigh, making her yelp and her knees buckle. Kylo clucks his tongue at her playfully, licking at the two little beads of blood.

 

     “Tell me,” he commands. Rey’s lip wobbles in distress, but she _wants_ to obey him now.

 

     “I threw myself out of a car to get away from someone.”

 

     Kylo freezes, a dozen questions racing through his mind at the implications of that statement. Rey is shaking, fresh tears dripping through her lashes, and Kylo tugs her down as rage swells through him. He doesn’t bother trying to understand why he’s so furious. The feeling is too all-consuming for logic.

 

     “He t-tried to . . . ” Rey is still answering his compulsion. Or perhaps because she was forced to begin, she can no longer stop. “He put his hand on my knee and tried to . . . I said no, and . . . ”

 

     He wants to dig into her mind and pry the memory from her thoughts. He wants to take the kine’s image so that it’s as clear to him as it is to her. Then he wants to hunt down the little runt, tear him to pieces, and toss the remains into the Abyss.

 

     But she’s clinging to him, pleading with him, and it’s more important to him to ease her.

 

     “Please, Kylo,” his Rey begs, kissing his throat. “Make me forget.”

 

     Kylo kisses her, engulfing her in his arms, settling her over his lap where she belongs. Rey squirms, but before he can hesitate he realizes that she’s trying to rid herself of her bra. He snaps it off for her, the clasps breaking after one impatient tug. Before she can reach down, he makes short work of her panties, the soaked cotton tearing beneath his hand. He hisses sharply at the feel of her hot, slippery folds beneath his fingers.

 

     The muscles of Rey’s inner thighs quiver as she balances on her knees, golden skin bared and limned in firelight. Kylo doesn’t like light, as a rule, but he’s grateful for it now. He drinks in the sight of her, his beautiful girl, cheeks flushed and body taut with desire. Her pert breasts bounce with each heaving breath. His long fingers carefully spread her tender folds as his free hand reaches for his belt.

 

     “What do you want?” he asks, blowing gently underneath one of her nipples.

 

     Rey lifts a tiny fist to her mouth, teeth sinking into her knuckles. He knows what she wants—her hips are already bucking against his hand, and he’s barely grazed the swollen lips of her cunt.

 

     But he wants her to say it.

 

     Kylo flicks his tongue against one sensitive nipple and Rey breaks.

 

     “I want you,” she gasps, hands clawing at his shoulders again. “Please Kylo.”

 

     He covers her puckered nipple with his mouth and plunges his fingers into her tight heat.

 

*

 

     Rey arches her back, clinging to her lover as another wave of ecstasy crashes through her. His fingers are long and thick, and it hurts when they stretch her, but her inner muscles clamp down hard around them and she knows that she wants them deeper. Kylo’s mouth is tugging at her breast, sending sensation streaking down to her toes, and she can only fall back limply into his hold when the painful intensity ebbs.

 

     Kylo continues to touch and suckle her throughout, humming his pleasure. Rey feels bone-deep satisfaction at the thought that she is pleasing him.

 

     When Kylo lifts his head, her breasts ache and the place between her legs is sore, but Rey still wants more.

 

     She looks down and sees that he’s unbuckled his belt. Her eyes widen as she takes her first look at a cock—long and thick, and topped with an angry red head. Rey reaches down and wraps her fingers timidly around the turgid base, eyes flashing up to gauge Kylo’s reaction. She worries her lip when her fingers don’t quite touch. But as her hand moves up in a tentative stroke, Kylo’s eyes narrow into slits and he tips his head back and groans.

 

     He’s beautiful.

 

     Rey strokes him again, blinking in fascination at the fluid that seeps from the tip of his cock, making her fingers sticky. She sits back on her heels, bending down before she can think twice about it, and her tongue comes out to swipe at his cock. She blinks at the slightly bitter taste, but it doesn’t quell the urge to try and fit his cock into her mouth.

 

     Suddenly his hands are under her armpits and he’s hauling her back up. Rey quails at the hard expression on his face, the guttural growl. She opens her mouth to stammer an apology, but his fierce command cuts her off.

 

     “Ride me, Rey. Now.”

 

     Something knots inside her belly at his tone and she hurries to obey, knowing that the pinch will only ease when he’s inside her. She pauses only for a second, feeling the slide of his cock against her wet folds, and then his hands rest on her hips and begin to guide her implacably down.

 

     It _hurts._

 

     She wants him and she wants this, but oh God, _it hurts._

 

     Her back arches and her legs flex as he pulls her down and drives deeper. Beyond the pain she feels an ache that begs for relief—something that she only begins to taste when he’s fully inside her. She feels stuffed—but it isn’t nearly enough.

 

     Kylo seems to understand her mewls and moans. He kisses her breasts again, worrying at her swollen nipples with his tongue and teeth. One large hand slips down over her belly, down to the place where her soft flesh is constricted around his hard length. His thumb finds the sensitive little nub at the peak of her thighs and begins to rub.

 

     Rey clenches harder around him, her hips lifting instinctively even though she isn’t sure if she wants to chase the sensation or get away from it. Kylo’s other hand is still on her hip, and when he pushes her back down the jolt makes her gasp.

 

     And Rey understands.

 

     She starts tentatively, lifting a few inches before pushing herself back down. Her mouth falls open at the sheer, mind-numbing pleasure of it, and when Kylo’s hands cup her ass and begin to help her, his hips lifting so that he’s grinding against her, Rey begins to sob.

    

     “Is this what you wanted, little one?” Kylo’s voice is strained, his face feral. “To be fucked by a monster?”

 

     Rey knows there’s something wrong in what he just said, but she can’t find the words for it. Not with Kylo inside her, with her body climbing the jagged peak to another release. She kisses him instead of answering, not caring that his teeth cut her lip, her fingers knotting in his hair.

 

     The world shifts as he hooks his arms behind her knees and rolls them. Rey is dimly aware of her back hitting the floor, the scrape of fur against her shoulder blades, before Kylo’s weight is on her and his cock is plunging back inside her. Her nails rake down his chest as she screams at the ferocity of his pounding pace.

 

     “Tell me, Rey.” Kylo leans down so that her breasts are mashed against his chest and his lips are against her ear. His hips keep rocking against her own. Over her own ragged breathing and keening sobs she can hear the slap of flesh against flesh, the squelch of his cock burying into her wet pussy. “Tell me that this is what you wanted.”

 

     Rey moans, her body vibrating with every hard thrust. How can he expect her to speak? She can barely think, her fingers clawing at the steely vaulting of his ribs, her heels digging into his back.

 

     _“Rey.”_

 

     “Oh, _fuck.”_ She babbles as he fucks her harder, all shame gone, her eyes going wide as a brutal orgasm shatters her. “ _Yes, Kylo_ , oh yes, _please—”_

 

     The last thing she sees is the firelight on the ceiling before Kylo cages her against him and claims his own release.

 

*

 

 

     _Rey checks her messages again, rolling her eyes when she sees Finn’s texts. He works the night shift as a police officer, so she's used to him sending messages at odd hours. She usually replies in the morning and doesn't usually mind that she doesn't hear back until evening._

 

> _4:53 a.m._
> 
> _What’s this I hear about you going for an interview in the city tomorrow?_

_He’s her first real friend, but he’s too protective of her. Rey wonders why it doesn’t annoy Rose, his girlfriend . . . though Rose is protective of her as well. She frowns when she realizes that the only way Finn could have heard about her interview is if Rose told him._

_Rey grits her teeth in frustration. She appreciates being mothered—God knows she’s had less than her fair share of care in her life—but being told what to do has always grated at her, especially since she’s always been able to care for herself. How many years do Finn and Rose have on her anyway? Three? Four? She may technically still be a kid, but she’s willing to bet that she knows more about being a grown up than they do._

 

> _4:57 a.m._
> 
> _Text me all the details or I’ll ask Plutt when I wake up._

_That was going to be a fun conversation for both of them. Rey had been too groggy and excited when she’d woken up to reply. Now that she has a free moment, she’s too annoyed._

_“Hey, sorry to keep you waiting.” Her prospective employer is sliding back into the car, two large sippy cups in his hands. “I thought you might want something to drink along the way.”_

_Rey takes the cup but doesn’t drink. “Thanks, but you didn’t need to. I was hoping to be back home before dark, so . . . ”_

_“Your dad keeps you on a tight leash, huh?” He smirks as he says it, but his buggy blue eyes settle on her neck._

_“He’s not my father,” Rey says calmly, burying the urge to smack the smirk off his face._

_“Oh, so it’s like_ that.” _At Rey’s glare, he raises his hands in mock defense and laughs again as he starts the car._

 

_This stupid interview is shaping up to be more trouble than it’s worth. She’d been grudgingly anticipating driving into Coruscant to check out the garage he was talking about, but the sleazeball had insisted on stopping for breakfast, and now gas. At the rate they were going, they’d be in Coruscant at three o’clock and she’d be forced to spend the night somewhere._

_She has an inkling that arriving late is part of his plan, but Rey isn’t worried. She’s dealt with pushy customers before, and this smug bastard isn’t any different. She’d tell him to shove off and he would either hire her anyway, because she was_ that _good, or he’d send her back to Unkar._

_Either way, she would get away from Unkar and Jakku for a day. That was something._

 

*

 

     Rey jolts awake, eyes flaring wide in the darkness, and for one terrible moment she thinks she might still be in that tunnel where the bastard had pulled over, where she had woken to the sound of a seatbelt being unbuckled.

 

     But it’s quiet except for the thundering of her own pulse in her ears, and after she takes a deep breath, her memories begin stringing together and reality sinks in.

 

     She’s on the floor, partly covered, but there are chills racing over her exposed shoulder. She’s lying atop something cool and tough, her limbs are tangled with someone’s, and there’s a hand over her waist . . .

 

     Rey tries to sit up. Parts of her protest and she flushes, remembering what it had taken to get sore spots like _that._ It’s too dark for her to see him properly, but the pale skin and the sheer mass of him next to her make it easy to find him.

 

     Kylo Ren.

 

     She runs a hand over his chest, flinching when it feels like touching marble. Cold, unyielding marble. It’s stupid, considering everything she knows about him already, but she moves her hand up and digs her fingers against the side of his neck. Rey’s heart clatters despite herself when she finds nothing.

 

     It really shouldn’t surprise her that he doesn’t have a pulse when she knows that he doesn’t have a heartbeat. She’d spent quite some time with her head resting over his chest, tracing idle patterns on it while Kylo had run his fingers through her hair.

 

     Panic has her surging to her feet. Despite the weakness suffusing her limbs, Rey knows she is no longer hurt. In the last day or so she’s been attacked by a sick pervert, suffered through a painful escape, walked for hours, and been mauled then made love to by a monster.

 

     But by some miracle, she is no longer hurt.

 

     It sounds insane, but in that suffocating moment one thought burns clearly through the fog: she needs to get back to that rickety shack where she lives with Unkar. It’s a part of her existence that she hates, but at least _that_ she understands.

 

     Kylo doesn’t stir as Rey creeps about trying to find her things. She wonders if she should pull a curtain open, but the light might wake him and she doesn’t want to face his displeasure.

 

     Somehow, despite everything that’s happened, she feels like facing his displeasure might be the worst thing.

 

     And it’s that bizarre thought that keeps her going, has her pulling on her awful dress and damp coat when all she really wants to do is lay back down and press her face against his throat. Because the part of her that is still Rey, that is still hers alone, knows that this is _wrong_ , that she is not acting like herself, and that she needs to get away from him _now._

 

     Rey runs out of the house and into the noon-day sun, boots in hand and tears in her eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Depending on how the next chapter goes, I may up the chapter count of this by a few. I'm pretty confident that I can make it at five, but you never know with these things. 
> 
> Feedback is love! 
> 
>  
> 
> [Cainite](https://whitewolf.fandom.com/wiki/Cainite)
> 
>  
> 
> [Kine](https://whitewolf.fandom.com/wiki/Kine)
> 
>  
> 
> [Ghoul](https://whitewolf.fandom.com/wiki/Ghoul_\(VTM\))


	4. But I Have Promises to Keep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay. Getting back on track after the holiday rush is _work._
> 
> Also, I’m going to go ahead and up the chapter count.

        It’s two o’clock in the morning and Rey’s been at the police station for seven hours. She watches the officers rush about, noting the differences between Coruscant’s 38th police precinct and the police station in Jakku. The 38th is certainly a livelier place, but Rey isn’t sure that it’s a good thing. She watches a pair of officers wrestle another struggling perp down the hall and into one of the holding cells.

 

        _Perp._

 

        It’s a word that Finn uses often. She tries not to slouch in dejection as she thinks of him and resists the urge to try and call him again. She picks at one of the frayed sleeves of the sweater that she picked out from the lost and found box. It’s an ugly, knotted knit, but the hunter green goes nicely enough with her coloring and it’s the cleanest item in there, smelling faintly of talc and old lady perfume.

 

        “Coffee?”

 

        Sergeant Holdo is a tall woman with hair so light it’s almost platinum. The fluorescent lighting renders gives it a faint bluish cast. Rey reaches for the mug she offers. She hasn’t slept since she’d stumbled her way out of Kylo’s house—she’s too afraid to. Every time she’s woken up in the last forty-eight hours, something horrifying or incredible is happening.

 

        But a small, determined part of her wants to sleep, wants to find him in the corner of her mind where she knows he’s lurking, wants to wake up to find that she’d never left him. As the hours pass, it’s harder and harder to shake her senses free from that part of herself.

 

        The coffee is bitter and scalding, but it jolts Rey fully awake. “Thank you,” she mumbles, trying to smile and failing. Sergeant Holdo’s blue eyes are kind but sharp, and Rey feels like crumbling when she thinks she sees pity in them.

 

        Rey can imagine what they all think. She’d arrived in torn clothes and in a wild state, begging to see Detective Poe Dameron. Everyone had seemed to be asking questions at once—

 

        _“Can you tell me what happened?”_

_“What’s your name?”_

_“Are you sure you don’t want a doctor?”_

        —and Rey had screamed for them to bring her _Poe fucking Dameron_ until Sergeant Holdo had walked over to her and laid a gentle hand over her shoulder.

 

        No one else had said anything to her after. Sergeant Holdo had taken her to the back of the precinct and had asked her quietly if she wanted to change into more comfortable clothes. Detective Dameron was out working a case, but Rey was more than welcome to wait at the precinct for him. She didn’t push Rey to undertake a medical examination or ask Rey for a statement. She’d gotten Rey something to eat—a beef stew that Rey had energetically scarfed down—and then had gone back to her work, telling Rey to ask if she needed anything.

 

        If Rey thought they could actually do something useful, she’d have filed the report everyone seemed to expect. But she had known deep down, even as she’d dialled Finn’s number, that the police wouldn’t be able to help her.

 

        Rey drinks her coffee, finding it more difficult to swallow when Sergeant Holdo sits next to her. Maybe she thinks Rey’s had enough time to figure out what the fuck she wants to say.

 

        “Dameron will be here soon,” Sergeant Holdo remarks, staring straight ahead. “I messaged him about you and he said he would hurry.”

 

        Rey wants to ask why he would, but that will only give her away. Prior to the thirty-second phone call to Finn, when Rose had answered in his stead, Rey had never even heard of Poe Dameron. So instead she tries to smile again, managing it a bit better now that Sergeant Holdo isn’t making direct eye contact. “Thank you.”

 

        “Once Dameron arrives, there’s somewhere we have to go, Rey.” Sergeant Holdo’s measured tone is supposed to be calming, but a chill still skitters down Rey’s spine nonetheless. “Things are apparently more complicated than we originally thought. Can you stay awake for a little longer?”

 

*

 

        Armitage Hux’s lip curls in distaste as he steps into Ren’s lair. If he is honest, there’s a more primal emotion underneath the disgust, but he refuses to dwell on it. After all, it serves no one but Ren to know that Hux might be afraid.

 

        He keeps his rigidly dignified bearing as he strides down the slaughterhouse that was once a handsome entrance hall, his fine leather shoes squeaking slightly over the gore. The scent of blood is almost infinitely appealing to all Cainites, but Ren and his ilk have a way of tainting even that pleasure. An unnatural darkness hangs in the air, choking what should have been a delicious smell, and for a split second Hux questions his sanity in willingly approaching Ren when he is in this kind of mood.

 

        The only other time that Ren had been this out of control was when he’d diablerized his sire and claimed his place at the head of his clan. Hux had been impressed and certainly inspired by the move, but Ren had behaved so madly in the aftermath that Hux and the others at the council had since generally given him a wide berth. Hux himself had refused to see Ren without a coterie of his ghouls for years.

 

        He suppresses a sigh as he makes his way through more ruined rooms on his way down to Ren’s true chambers. The ghouls had certainly served their purpose as far as helping Ren calm down, and there are scores of others to replace the ones that Ren has fed on, but it still infuriates Hux to find his careful work demolished. Creating and training ghouls is not a mindless process—doubly so when the work involves modifying the limited capabilities of mortal shells.

 

        Hux stops at the head of the stairs that lead down to the cellar. The air is so thick and so dark that not even his undead sight can pierce it. He pauses as another prickle of fear breaks through his determined composure.

 

        “Down here, Hux.”

 

        Ren’s voice is somewhat amused. It aggravates Hux enough to make him straighten his shoulders and march down into the darkness, even as his muscles coil into tight readiness. His shoes clip loudly against the stone, the noise reverberating through him so loudly that he imagines it might be a wildly thumping heart.

 

        When he reaches the foot of the stairs, he stands tall and still, slowly scanning the pitch black around him. The air around him is so heavy it feels like he’s swathed in smothering fabric. Hux grits his teeth, refusing to be cowed. “I sent you my messengers to provide you with the information you wanted, not to feed you.”

 

        “Thankfully, a thing can serve two purposes,” came the even reply.

 

        Hux smirks despite himself just as the lights flicker on.

 

        As expected, Ren is a filthy mess. Leaning against one of the wall-length racks, he’s still idly licking at his fingers, apparently trying to get at some last bits of flesh under his nails, and Hux tries not to roll his eyes at the display. There’s a steadiness to Ren’s dark gaze that reassures Hux—perhaps Ren’s nearly unintelligible roaring over the phone eight hours earlier had just been the hunger talking.

 

        Still, Hux keeps his own power at his fingertips as he says what he has come to say.

 

        “I found her. But she isn’t as easily accessible as we first thought.”

 

        Predictably, Ren scowls and the lights dance. Even though they manage to stay on, they are dimmer and there are shadows crawling up the walls. Hux keeps his eyes on his friend.

 

        “Your pets told me you were on the way to get her,” Ren growls, getting to his feet. He isn’t that much taller than Hux, but he’s a great deal brawnier. Not that Hux would ever consider brawling with Ren, but it irks him that the effect of Ren’s physique is the same: an intimidation that Hux is forced to acknowledge even as he fights it.

 

        “I was,” he sniffs, hiding behind exaggerated patience and disdain. “But _your_ pet has somehow managed to find herself in the custody of the Camarilla. You know how that changes things.”

 

        Ren snarls, and Hux braces himself as the bulbs above them start popping and glass showers down. Something trembles through the cellar and Hux hears more glass shattering—bottles smashing against the floor, or maybe even the walls. He closes his eyes, gritting his teeth as a sickening wave of energy brings him to his knees.

 

        When it’s over, Ren’s voice cuts through the quiet, so terrible to even Hux’s ears that he’s sure that it’s a voice straight from the Abyss.

 

        “Call the council.”

 

*

 

        Poe Dameron is a handsome man, with the kind of sharp smile and twinkling eyes that would make most girls swoon. Even Rey, who’s usually repelled or indifferent to men, finds herself tucking her hair behind her ears and smiling shyly when he swaggers into the precinct and yells for her. His warm hand is rough but his grip is friendly and reassuring.

 

        “Ready to go, Rey?” he asks, his easy familiarity oddly comforting.

 

        “She’s been ready for a while,” Sergeant Holdo answers for her. Her arm comes around Rey’s thin shoulders. “Why are you so late? It’ll be dawn in a few hours.”

 

        “Relax, Sarge,” Poe drawls, rolling his eyes and tugging at Rey’s hand. He starts marching out of the precinct. “Just had to make sure we won’t be followed. Finn and his girl are already there and the others are on their way.”

 

        “Are they all right?” Rey asks. She doesn’t know who “the others” are, but she’s too afraid to know yet. She still has a weird sense of being out of time, of her mind trying to catch up with everything that’s happening around her, and she doesn’t know if she can absorb much more. It’s more important to her to know that she’ll be seeing her friends. Maybe the sense of unreality will leave her then.

 

        Poe and Sergeant Holdo hustle her into the elevator. A few officers and some civilians look like they’re about to join them, but they catch the look on Sergeant Holdo’s face and stand back. Rey sneaks glances at her companions, noting the differences in demeanour, her confusion growing at what she sees: Poe’s open, bright and eager countenance; Sergeant Holdo’s tightly-gathered composure. When the elevator doors close, Poe replies.

 

        “A little shaken up, but it’s nothing we can’t handle. Finn tells me you’re a trooper, and I can tell he’s right. You’ll do just fine.”

 

        Sergeant Holdo tenses, but says nothing. Rey doesn’t know which of them to trust, since both seem to be dealing honestly with her. They reach the parking garage floor and Poe leads them to a spiffy Porsche Speedster, where Sergeant Holdo tucks her into the back seat like she would a child.

 

        Rey knows she’s tired because she’s starting to find it funny that she’s climbing into strangers’ cars after promising herself that she never would again. To be fair, she’d needed the kindly old lady who’d picked her up along the highway, fluttering with distress and insisting that she bring her to the hospital when all Rey had wanted was to borrow her phone. She stared at the backs of Poe and Sergeant Holdo’s heads. She didn’t know if she needed them, too, but she didn’t exactly have a plan after “talk to Finn.”

 

        Poe switches the radio on and Rey recognizes Santana. She closes her eyes before she can think to stop herself, enthralled by the sinuous strums of the guitar, and slips into sleep.

 

*

 

        _It’s cold, so cold._

_She wants to sit up, wants to curl into a ball and rub some heat into her limbs, but she can’t move her hands. Her arms feel like they’re tied down, but she’s just immobilized, not in pain. She squirms, trying to move her legs, but whoever had tied her up had been thorough: she can’t move them, too. She blinks, trying to see where she is, but there is only darkness around her._

_Fear begins to bubble in her chest as the moments stretch into one another and she cannot remember how she came to be here._

_“Rey.”_

He’s here.

 

        _She feels joy burst through her at the knowledge that he is close, even if she can’t see him, even if his voice is stern and as cold as her surroundings. His voice surrounds her, blankets her as surely as the darkness, and she relaxes into her bonds. She can be anywhere, as long as he is with her._

_“Where are you?” He is still angry. Rey wants to see him so that she can kiss his feet and beg for his forgiveness._

_“I don’t know.” It makes her want to weep. She tries to move again, tries to stretch her arms out to where she thinks he is, but she can’t. “Can’t you find me?”_

_“I’m trying, sweet. Give me a little time.”_

_Rey sobs, curling her hands into fists and trying to kick her feet. “I’m so sorry I left you.”_

_He is quiet so long that she is afraid that he has already gone, and she weeps in earnest, hating herself in her despair. Then there is a comforting weight over her and hands cup around her cheeks, soft lips sliding over her brow and temple._

_“Don’t fret, little one. It doesn’t matter in the end. I’ll always find you.”_

 

*

 

        Rey wakes to find tears on her cheeks and Sergeant Holdo’s hand over her forehead. She whimpers, still caught in the loose threads of her dream, and she doesn’t protest when the tall woman huddles her close, patting her head and murmuring words of comfort that Rey doesn’t really understand. She cries until the heaviness over her chest is reduced to a hollow ache, until she becomes aware of the damp spot she has placed on Sergeant Holdo’s shirt, until there is a dull throbbing around her temples.

 

        When she lifts her head, bewildered and ashamed, she looks over Sergeant Holdo’s shoulder to see Poe. For the first time since they’ve met, his face is completely serious, the cast of his features grim.

 

        “Looks like it’s worse than we thought,” he says, digging around in his brown coat until he manages to find a lighter and a pack of cigarettes. “God, I hope they have a plan.”

 

        Sergeant Holdo ignores him in favour of helping Rey out of the car and Rey can’t bring herself to ask what he means. She doesn’t usually like it when people talk over her head, but she can’t seem to summon the indignation she knows she should feel. She feels bereft, distraught—like she wants to jump out of her own skin to leave but doesn’t know where to go.

 

        They’re in another parking garage, smaller but more polished than the precinct’s—all brick and mellow overhead lights. There are four other vehicles in the garage, most of them glorious machines that would have made her little mechanic’s heart thump with excitement under different circumstances. Now she only cares that she recognizes one of the cars: Finn’s Toyota Tacoma is parked only a few feet away from them.

 

        They lead her to a pair of heavy steel doors at the end of the garage, Poe still smoking and Sergeant Holdo’s hand in Rey’s. The doors lead into a well-lit, long corridor with no windows and only one door at the very end. Rey stares at the photographs and paintings that fill the otherwise empty space. Images jump out at her but don’t really make an impression on her brain, which is on a tailspin she can’t seem to stop.

 

        Sergeant Holdo squeezes her hand as they reach the end of the corridor. “Rey, you should know that we want what’s best for you. You’re in no state to be making choices right now, so I hope you’ll trust us to do what’s best.”

 

        Poe pulls open the door and steps back to let them pass, a dark look on his face.

 

        “Nice, Sarge,” he growls. “She’s basically been ghouled by a member of the Sabbat and you pile on by dipping into her head.”

 

        That stops Rey short. She barely see where they are, intent flickering in her head for the first time since she’s woken up. Sergeant Holdo is staring hard at Poe, who looks belligerent. Rey tugs at her hand.

 

        “You can dip into my head?”

 

        Sergeant Holdo sighs, turning to her. “This will be easier once we’re all together. But yes, Rey, I can pick up bits of what you’re thinking.”

 

        Two days ago, Rey would have burst out laughing. Instead—

 

        _What am I thinking now?_

 

        Her mouth falls open when Sergeant Holdo’s voice rings in her head even though her lips stay pressed into an amused smile.

 

        _This game never gets old. But we have places to go and things to do, Rey._

 

        She’s still struggling to form a comment when Sergeant Holdo leads her forward. Poe falls in step with them, rolling his eyes at Sergeant Holdo behind her back. Rey’s mind is still sluggish, but at least it’s trying to catch up now.

 

        It’s almost pitch black in the building they’re in, the only sources of light coming from the city beyond the windows. Her guides are sure-footed enough, though, and a part of Rey is beginning to guess as to why that is. She thinks of Finn and she manages to put one foot in front of the other despite the fear and suspicion blooming in her mind. Finn had told her to look for Poe Dameron, to do as Poe Dameron said. That’s good enough for Rey.

 

        Finally, Poe pushes open a door and Rey blinks, eyesight adjusting despite the blue mood lighting. It looks like someone’s hip poker room, but Rey is too distracted by the people turning in their seats to take much else in.

 

        She stumbles forward, a strangled, incoherent sound leaving her lips as she reaches out to Finn. He’s on his feet, chair scraping and nearly falling back as he rushes to hold her. She sobs as his arms come around her and she buries her face in his neck, breathing in the scent of his favourite brown leather jacket. She’s with Finn again, _finally_ , and she knows it’s going to be all right.

 

        “Oh Peanut,” he says against her ear, hand against the back of her head. His voice is reassuring but even as her own tension melts away she can feel his unease and discomfort. When he pulls back to look at her, there’s a look on his face that reminds her about why they first became friends. “Don’t be afraid. I’m going to fix this.”

 

        “I think you’ve done enough, Storm.” The voice was raspy but warm—the voice of someone who’s probably smoked a pack too many cigarettes and unapologetically enjoyed each one. It belongs to a small woman with ashy grey-brown hair twisted up in an intricate knot. She’s seated at the head of the table and there’s something in her piercing dark eyes as she holds Rey’s gaze. “Let her take a seat and we’ll get started.”

 

        Rey steps back from Finn, reddening under the scrutiny of everyone in the room, but a delicate hand slips through hers and she looks down to find Rose’s sweet, kind face. She blinks to hold back a fresh wave of tears as her friend tugs her down to the empty seat on her right.

 

        There are three other people at the table that Rey does not know yet. To the right of the lady is a man she can only describe as roguish, his handsome face worn and craggy in all the right places. He has the look of someone who can be charming when he wants to be—though he doesn’t seem to want to just then. At the other end of the table is another man, and to Rey’s eyes he seems to be all grey: grey hair, grey beard, grey suit. Even his eyes are a shade between blue and grey.

 

        “Now that we’re all here, some introductions are in order,” says the lady in command, once Sergeant Holdo and Poe are also seated. Finn sits beside Rey so that both her hands are being held by her friends. “My name is Leia. This—” her hand slips over the palm of the man on her right—“is my husband, Han.” A nod to the man across the table. “My brother, Luke. You’ve met Holdo and Dameron. And you’re good friends with Storm and Rose. We’ve heard about you, Rey, and I’m sorry that our first meeting is under these circumstances.”

 

        For a moment Rey can’t speak as the questions crowd on her tongue all at once. At last—“Why would you want to meet me?”

 

        “Your friendship with Storm and Rose is rare,” Leia replies, eyes flitting over their faces. Rey can swear she almost looks amused. “We don’t encourage relationships such as yours, as a rule, so it was only going to be a matter of time until we invited you to join us.”

 

        Rey looks at her friends, at Finn’s kindly, impish face and Rose’s sweetly earnest features—their joined hands. Her mind draws a blank. “We’re not all together. I’m just their friend.”

 

        There is a pregnant pause and then Han starts to laugh. Rey looks around as everyone except Leia joins in. Even Sergeant Holdo has her hand over her mouth, the curve of her lips peeking through.

 

        “Holy shit, Leia, shoot straight already,” Han says, his voice as grizzly as his countenance. His hand moves in a slow arc in front of Rey as he draws her attention. “Look, kid, we’re not human. You know that already, don’t you, after what you’ve been through?”

 

        And just like that, the room is quiet again. Rey’s eyes wheel around the room and her heart begins to thud heavily through her chest. She’s holding her friends’ hands in her lap and she looks down again at their twined fingers. When they say nothing, she slowly loosens her grip.

 

        “I . . . ” She can barely hear her own voice through the roaring in her ears. “You’re not like him, are you?”

 

        Everyone’s speaking at once.

 

        “ _No,_ Peanut, we’re nothing like him!”

 

        “Can someone dominate her for a second? Her heart sounds like it’s about to explode.”

 

        “Rey, I know you’re scared, but—”

 

        It’s a quiet voice that cuts through the hubbub.

 

        “We’re all vampires, Rey, yes.” Rey’s gaze finds Luke’s steady eyes as he speaks, and her swimming vision centers. “But we’re not quite like the one who marked you. We won’t hurt you.”

 

        He sounds truthful, and the eerie calm he’s projecting manages to soothe her. Even the part of herself that’s helped her survive all her life—the same part that got her out and away from Kylo—is quiet. She takes a deep breath. Both Finn and Rose look upset, but are trying to seem reassuring. She knows their faces, knows what it means when they hold their eyes that way.

 

        “I . . . how many of you are there?” she asks, though she can guess. Her skin is crawling. Finn, Poe, and Sergeant Dameron are all cops. Rose works in construction and her sister is an interior designer—assuming Paige is a vampire, too. How many people does she know who are actually vampires?

 

        “In this city, probably in the low thousands,” Sergeant Holdo informs her. Her tone becomes brisk when she sees Rey’s eyes bug out. “But I want you to think about that, Rey. There are thousands of us in this city, yet you’ve never heard of us until now. Why do you think that is?”

 

        When Rey merely gapes at her, Poe fills in. “Because not all of us are like that psychotic bastard who attacked you.” His eyes flick inexplicably towards Leia and Han. “Sorry. But what I mean to say is that what happened to you really isn’t the norm, Rey. There are rules to keep our existence secret, for the sake of both humans and vampires. Those rules were broken when Kylo Ren attacked you.”

 

        “You can’t attack humans?” Rey tries to square the thought with everything she knows ab0ut vampires—which isn’t that much. She’s never been a fan of the horror genre. There’s enough darkness in her life without her having to look for it.

 

        Leia’s tone is delicate but it still carries authority. If Rey didn’t know she was a vampire, she’d have pegged her as some sort of politician.

 

        “Not exactly, Rey. We can feed, because we need to do it in order to survive. But we can’t attract attention to ourselves in any way. Most of us manage by finding ourselves . . . shall we say, ‘hosts,’ who provide blood willingly. When blood banks came around, we didn’t even need to interact with humans directly in order to sustain ourselves. But there are still those of our kind who . . . ” A shadow passes over her face. “There are those of our kind who don’t believe in hiding, and who don’t see humans as much more than meat.”

 

        “And who—” Rey swallows the lump in her throat with some difficulty. “Who’s in charge? Between you and those who think I’m meat?”

 

        “That’s a complicated question,” Han says. He smirks at his wife. “Everyone likes to think they’re in charge.”

 

        Leia doesn’t look at him, but her posture is a little stiffer, her chin held a little higher. “Everyone here is a member of what we call the Camarilla. We believe in keeping the masquerade and respecting the boundaries between our kind and humans. Kylo Ren is a leader of the Sabbat. They’re a separate sect.”

 

        “So he’s not in charge of you, then?”

 

        Leia understands what she’s asking. “No, dear. He can’t make us do anything when it comes to you.”

 

        Sergeant Holdo clears her throat. Rey tenses when she sees the look on Sergeant Holdo’s face.

 

        “Forgive me, Princess, but that’s not completely accurate.” It’s hard not to feel betrayed, but there’s no malice in Sergeant Holdo’s expression as she argues against Rey’s well-being. “She’s been marked and while the bond isn’t complete, she already reeks of him. Most would say that she already belongs to him.”

 

        “I _belong_ to him?” Rey gasps, even as a shiver dances down her spine. “I don’t belong to anybody!”

 

        Sergeant Holdo’s eyes are sad, but her voice is firm. “You know that’s not true. I’ve been inside your head, Rey. I see him there as clearly as you do.”

 

        “There has to be a way around this,” Finn interjects, his hands coming to rest on the table in front of them. “We can’t just hand Rey off to Ren. If he doesn’t kill her, he’ll hurt her for running.”

 

        “Can’t I just go home?” It’s childish and she feels stupid as soon as she says it, but if she thought she was all cried out, she was wrong. She sniffles and lays her hand on Finn’s arm. “Jakku is a ways from here and he may not think it’s worth it to go out of his way . . .”

 

        Rey trails off, her throat constricting as if it won’t permit any more lies. There’s a pressure in her chest, behind her eyes, and she reaches up to rub her temples. It takes her a second to recognize it as anger, a second later to understand that the anger isn’t hers. When she opens her eyes, everyone is looking at her. It would be stupid to claim that she wasn’t Kylo Ren’s a second time.

 

        “Jakku isn’t safe, Rey. You’re safest with us.” Finn sounds sure, but he’s also blatantly ignoring Sergeant Holdo, who’s not having it.

 

        “She’s safest with her regnant. We’re already risking her _and_ the masquerade by keeping her from him.”

 

        “Why are you so afraid of him?” Poe demands, palm hitting the table.

 

        Rey sees Sergeant Holdo’s fangs for the first time as she grits her teeth and spits out her reply. “I’m not afraid, I’m just not a fool who’s willing to start a war with the Sabbat over a little girl.” The fangs recede as she glances in Rey’s direction. “No offense, Rey.”

 

        “Ben’s claim is undeniable,” Luke interrupts while Rey’s still trying to form a reply. His voice is so mild that Rey is convinced she’s misheard him. “Ben” sounds a lot like “Ren”, after all. “It would be foolish to challenge him without a claim of our own.”

 

        “I don’t think friendship counts as a claim,” Han points out, and Finn shuts his mouth. “Anything else we want to try?”

 

        Luke smiles, his eyes on his sister.

 

        When Rey sees that Leia’s smiling as well, she knows she ought to be afraid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vampire politics, eh? I’m sorry if this chapter came off as a bit dry, but in my (semi-)professional opinion, it’s necessary for the plot. (Yes, I do occasionally write stuff with plot to mix things up.)
> 
> Anyway, any other VTM fans out there? Ten points if you can guess what clans I’m alluding to. (Also, if there are VTM fans out there, apologies for the liberties I’ve taken with the universe. I needed to bend some things to fit my narrative here.)
> 
> [Diablerie](https://whitewolf.fandom.com/wiki/Diablerie_\(VTM\))
> 
> [Camarilla](https://whitewolf.fandom.com/wiki/Camarilla_\(VTM\))
> 
> [Sabbat](https://whitewolf.fandom.com/wiki/Sabbat)


End file.
